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GRAVY

My first novel started with a mole. Yes, a MOLE - a freckle, a birthmark, whatever you want to call it.

I was at the pool with my daughter getting ignored by our swim instructor when a lifeguard with a particularly ripped abdomen walked by. He stopped to flirt with one of the female lifeguards and my eyes flew directly to an adorable mole on the top can of his six-pack.

"How cute!" I thought (among other things). "He looks like a character in a romance novel!"

So I went home and started writing fiction for the first time. That was over a year ago and I still haven't been able to stop. GRAVY is the story of a suburban housewife who wants another baby, but gets a man with a mole instead.

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December 08, 2012

It's complicated

I'm beginning to learn my wayaround your new kitchen.How you have one sponge for paint and another for dishes.

I still love to cook for you,but it's easiest when I force myself to forget that it's your apartment, not ours.Even though my inner Julia likes to think of itas my second kitchen.Perhaps the maid's kitchen.The one without a butter dish (or ziplock bags).The place I'm keeping the unused pots and pans that used to sit in our garage.

The pans that burn and stick.

Like you doto me.

Unlike my kitchen,(the one that used to be ours), yours has a mirror fit for a ballet studio. Which is good for checking out my dance movesand making sure my skirt isn't too short(it always is),but best for watching your gravity shift into minewhen I'm baking pie in my green jeans.

I don't even eat pie.And you still don't have a trash can,but that mirror tells meeverything you've never been able to say.